


The work of the king

by redsnake05



Category: Ancient Egyptian RPF, Ancient Egyptian Religion
Genre: Gen, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rites of Passage, Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 12:35:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7439584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/pseuds/redsnake05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hatshepsut goes to the Temple of Amun to seek her Father's wisdom for her rule. She gains a different vision to what she had anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The work of the king

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> I was excited to write about Hatshepsut, though I am sorry all my ideas containing Thutmose went to terrible places and had to be abandoned.

Hatshepsut climbed the steps to the temple of Amun, walking tall and proud as befitted a Pharaoh. Her double crown sat heavy on her shaved head, but she had practiced for long hours and it remained steady and graceful. At the doors to the sanctum, she turned and surveyed the temple priests and acolytes.

"I will enter here with my Father," she said.

"So we have prepared," the most senior priest replied, his face smooth and bland, though she detected the faintest ripple of reaction at the back of the crowd. Of course. Her people would be watching, though, and would see who had allowed revulsion to master them in the face of her Father's will. 

They drew back and the priest intoned the traditional words for a son-King preparing to spend a night in the sanctum of his Father. Hatshepsut barely heard him; she was eager to see her great Father and have revealed to her the truth and way of her Kingship.

Finally, the doors were shut behind her and she approached the altar and statue reverently. She took off her crown and laid it humbly on the low step before sinking to her knees. It was sunset, and the long shadows cast strips of dusty red light between the pillars. It was beautiful, like bathing in the essence of the desert, she decided. The shadows wrapped the statue itself in soft grey.

Hatshepsut was prepared. She had anticipated this night since her father, Thutmose, had first spoken to her of the Kingship. She'd been a girl then, with her hair still in her sidelock, falling in her face, and her body dusty from running in the palace gardens. When her father had spoken, though, she had been filled with longing and ambition. She hadn't known then that women were not Pharaoh. She still did not believe it, defiantly ignoring the tiny part of her brain that insisted that this was no place for her, that Amun would never unbend to her.

The sun slowly disappeared and the room gleamed silver as the moonlight snuck in. Hatshepsut sat on her little prepared mat with her arms wrapped around her knees and let herself dream. As it grew darker, she lit the oil lamps left for her, bathing her surroundings in a soft yellow glow. The ends of the room grew heavy, relieved only by silver streaks of moon or starlight, while the altar and Amun remained warm and vital.

Hatshepsut wasn't sure if her daydreams had slipped into sleep when she heard the soft footfall. She jerked her head up and shook it to clear it. Her hand went to the small knife strapped under her shendyt; she was Pharaoh, but she was not fool enough to trust completely in the honour of the priests who had fought against her Kingship.

When the woman stepped out of the shadows, almost out of the very statue of Amun, Hatshepsut breathed a little easier, but kept her hand on her knife just in case. Then her eyes widened with amazement, and she was almost sure she was dreaming, as the woman wavered and split, three women standing forth in front of her, hands raised high in the lamplight and the wash of moonlight, before recombining to one, who walked steadily down the steps towards Hatshepsut.

Abandoning her knife, Hatshepsut knelt down in an attitude of devotion. The goddess lifted her, and wrapped her in her vulture's wings, and kissed her forehead. 

"I have waited a long time to speak with you, daughter," she said.

"Mother," said Hatshepsut, searching for the words to speak. She had not considered Mut in her imaginings and plannings, and she was uncertain with shame. 

"Be not ashamed," said Mut. "I know full well why you have not planned for me or thought of me. I am not angry, child." She pulled Hatshepsut down to kneel at her feet as she herself sat on the lowest step.

"Daughter of gods," Mut said, "I know you have come here to hear Amun's wisdom, but I hope you will not spurn mine."

Hatshepsut was transfixed. Mut was the stillness of water that held infinite multitudes, and she was more powerful and terrible than she could have imagined. Certainly, she was older than Amun, Hatshepsut was sure, older and darker. She managed to shake her head; she would not turn aside the direction of the goddess.

"You have worked hard to gain the double crown," said Mut. "And to do that, you have had to cleave to the world of men - your father, your husband, your nephew that you will leave behind. They say that women stand behind the throne, carry the royal blood and the royal children, and this is the way of the world. Yet I would have you know that women can do anything. We are not two sides of one stone, our natures determined by which way we land when shaken from the sandals of the gods."

Hatshepsut nodded. She knew she had the vision and passion to be Pharaoh, and knew it was not some special unnatural flaw in her womanliness.

"This double crown you bear," Mut continued, "what does it signify?"

"The cobra and the vulture," said Hatshepsut. "Small and agile and indestructible, and soaring, maternal and creative."

"Both female," said Mut. "Both rulers and symbols of rule. This land forgot much under the heavy, unenlightened foot of the invaders. They taught us much, to be sure, but I consider it poor recompense for seeing my daughters fade from their divine grace."

Mut paused and considered. Hatshepsut sat silently at her feet, letting the lamps burn down and the moon wheel above. She had no idea how time passed, she felt no cold, no boredom. She was wrapped up in the goddess, almost seeming to observe with her the slow dance of years forward and back. 

"You must do many things in your reign," said Mut. "You must be yourself; a woman, a King, my divine daughter. You must bring back the double crown to my temple. You must live, not just for Egypt, but for yourself. I love you, but you are one reed in the flood of time, and you can only do that which you are here for."

Hatshepsut saw vast sadness on Mut's face, and felt some of her tired resignation at the slow, inexorable march of time and the steady triumph and forgetfulness of men. She resolved to live with joy, in the wide desert strength and the unknowable river current, in the light of the goddess, her Mother. She would search for balance, to not say that men were this or women that, to see Amun and Mut as the forces they were, not the shapes they wore, and herself the same.

"You know what to do," Mut said. "Good. You were always quick."

The goddess bent her head again, and then the wild eyes of the lion looked at her and her mane fell about Hatshepsut's face. 

"Be wild, daughter-King," she said. Mut stood, and her lion face faded. Her wings encircled Hatshepsut. "Be infinite."

Turning, she walked up the steps and into the statue again, leaving Hatshepsut staring after her. Looking down at her hands, she clutched a white feather, and her white shendyt was now the intense, bright blue of the goddess. She unfolded stiffly from kneeling, and, as the first light of dawn streamed into the room, finished the last of the ritual of the King in the service of her Father. 

She was standing, tall and proud with the double crown securely on her head, when the door was pushed open and the priests entered. She was Pharaoh, and she had many things to accomplish in the life she had chosen.


End file.
